


Getaway (Run Away)

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 투포케이 | 24K
Genre: Gen, descriptions of amateur emergency surgery?, this was supposed to be funny and lighthearted what happened, what even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I may or may not have just robbed a bank and you are now my getaway so DRIVE."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getaway (Run Away)

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt from sexyvanillatiger ♥  
> probably not what you wanted, but. enjoy anyway?

_Holy shit,_ Hui thought, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were starting to hurt. _Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit._ The muzzle pressing into his right hip was causing his breaths to be shallow, the panic in his chest making him shake. The man in the seat beside him breathed heavily, panted, and he looked—well he looked _sick,_ frankly, but he had a _gun_ pointed at Hui and frankly Hui just wanted to get the guy out of his car and as far away as humanly possible. No amount of promised cash or sexual favors was worth being this scared.

“Stop,” the man ground out, cheeks blushed a hard red, eyes sunken and dark. “Stop, here.” Hui put on his turn signal and pulled over; turned on his hazards and looked over at the stranger with his bright white hair. “You,” he breathed, his eyes falling shut for a moment. They were parked in front of a pharmacy, one of the privately owned ones that probably dealt with illegal drugs under the cover of being a decent place to get medicine. “You fuckin' take this. You get the scrip for _Choi Kisu._ ”

Hui sucked in a breath as the man pushed a bunch of bills into his hands. Twenties, probably two thousand dollars worth of them. He swallowed hard. “I—”

“You do that,” the man said. “You bring me those drugs you can keep the rest and then some. You go in and get that for me.” His breath was coming hard and fast now and despite himself Hui felt his heart starting to squeeze.

“Are you oka—”

“ _Now._ ”

Hui threw himself out of the car if only to get away from the menacing end of the handgun. He straightened the bills and shoved them into his pocket with his hand wrapped tight around them, walking into the small storefront. He walked straight to the counter.

“I'm. I'm here to pick up a prescription for Ch.... Choi Kisu?” he said, and the man behind the counter gave him a hard once over. Hui felt like he was in some kind of gang movie, like some tattooed monster was going to come out of the back where the pharmacist had just disappeared through and blow him away. Hui was a _good person,_ he didn't deserve this kind of shit.

The man came out after a terribly nerve wracking ten minutes. Hui was looking at first aid kits because they were the closest thing to the counter and he squeaked when the man slammed the box onto the table. The box? The box. The size of a shoebox, taped tight closed.

“S'at all?” he ground out, and Hui, in a moment of panic, said:

“The, the first aid kit too, please.”

“Yeah,” the man said, eying the other man in a way that made Hui sweat. “Yeah, I'm sure he needs it. Twelve hundred,” he said. “Twelve hundred and you get the hell out and tell that shithead if he needs another box he's paying double, cos he ain't doing what he's supposed to.”

“Y-yes sir,” Hui stammered out, counting out the bills and offering them over, taking the paper bag with the box and first aid kit and all but running out the door to his car, where the man in his front seat was panting for breath, eyes barely focused. Hui put the bag on his lap and the man grabbed it like it was a lifeline.

“Hey,” he said, climbing into the drivers seat. “Hey, are you okay? Hey, wake up.” The guys head lolled to one side and Hui bit his lip. He looked like he had a fever. “Hey, where am I taking you?” True, he could leave the guy wherever, but Hui was a _good person_ and—and even if the dude had just robbed a bank or a store or whatever, that didn't mean he was a _bad_ person.

“H,” the man said, or tried to. “Home,”

“Where's that,” Hui asked, buckling his seatbelt. The man gave him an address—on the bad side of town, not far from where they were—and that was where Hui drove, glad for his shitty little sedan, glad no one would bother stealing it as he pulled into the driveway—because it was a house, not an apartment complex (a shitty, dilapidated house with two broken windows and who knew what else but it was a fucking house)—and parked his car. He took in a deep breath. “We're here.”

“Yeah,” the man said, swinging like a drunk to grab the door handle. Hui watched him all but fall out of the car and nearly gagged at the smell—blood, blood and lots of it on the car seat where the man had been sitting. Blood on the back of his white shirt, still wet, sticking to his skin and Hui was a _good person_ but sometimes he could be a great one, and he grabbed his keys and all but ran to the other side, grabbing the man before he could completely hit the ground and holding him up, pressing one hand to his back. He could feel the wound, could feel the split in his skin.

“Okay,” Hui breathed, determined not to panic. He'd dealt with the guy throwing himself into the car and pointing a gun at his head, he'd dealt with driving for two hours to the furthest edge of the city, he'd dealt with that terrifying pharmacist who probably doubled as a mob doctor, he could _handle this._ He was a nurse for fucks sake. “Okay okay okay, come on, we gotta get you inside, I gotta look at this, come on—m” he was lapsing into Mandarin, unable to stop himself as he pulled the man towards the door, praying it was unlocked. He managed to shoulder it open and drag the man inside, grunting when they both collapsed to the floor, Hui trapped under the strangers weight. “Fuck,” he cussed, trying to wiggle out. He needed to close the door, he needed to make sure the bleeding stopped. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Daeil?” came a sleepy voice from the hallway, and Hui stopped breathing. “Daeil, are you home?”

“Ki,” Daeil panted, still holding the gun and the bag. “Kis. Kisu. Hyung.”

“Daeil, Jesus, you were out forev—”

A man—Kisu—came around the corner, wearing a stretched-out t-shirt and lounge pants. For a moment he just stood at the doorway, staring. He was rail-thin and gaunt in the face, Hui stared back for a moment before he remembered the bleeding man on the floor and barked out, “Get him on a flat surface, back up, if you have a needle and thread get it for me.”

“Daeil?” Kisu said, his voice half-broken and Hui seethed, shoving Daeil's deadweight off his body to get the door closed. Kisu was mumbling almost incoherently and Hui knew a drug addict when he saw one but he did _not_ have time for that, not if the wound was deep enough to possibly kill the man on the floor.

“If you can't help get out of the way,” he said, grabbing Daeil under the arms and dragging him into the first room—a kitchen, small with a laminate floor and no table. He grabbed for the bag still trapped in Daeil's fingers, the gun forgotten on the foyer floor in his rush to yank out the first aid kit and rip it open. Scissors, disinfectant, swabs, thread, needle. He got on top of Daeil's thighs and cut the shirt while Kisu stood there and couldn't seem to move. Daeil groaned, fingers grabbing at the floor.

“Hold his hands,” Hui ordered. “Get over here and hold his hands, Kisu.”

“Okay,” Kisu whispered, shaking as he knelt in front of Daeil and carefully arranged himself to let Daeil's head rest on his arm, holding both of his hands. “Okay, okay, okay, it's gonna be okay, Daeil, hyung's here, it's okay, I've got you, it's gonna be okay.” If Hui hadn't been so preoccupied with making sure that Daeil didn't bleed out, he might have thought it sweet. But he ripped the shirt open and the wound was just as ugly as he'd feared. Not big, not long but deep, and messy at one edge like the blade had been serrated.

“Hold him still,” Hui said, grabbing the bottle of alcohol. “This is gonna fucking hurt.”

He tipped it and Daeil screamed, back heaving, entire body thrashing left and right while Hui tried to wipe up the excess and Kisu tried to talk him down, crying helplessly.

“Daeil, Daeil it's okay, it's okay, he's gonna help you, he's gonna help, it just has to hurt for a minute, it just has to hurt for a minute, Daeil, please, it's gonna be okay,” he was sobbing, hard and ugly and Hui took a clean piece of gauze and gritted his teeth when the wound didn't stop bleeding. No wonder Daeil had looked so bad in the car, and he wondered how much blood he'd lost.

He glanced around, spotting a decorative washcloth hanging from a peg. It seemed distinctly out of place, but Hui didn't have time to think about that. “Give me that,” he said. “Now, _now,_ we have to stop the bleeding, give it to me.”

“Okay,” Kisu scrambled to grab it and Hui snatched it from his hand, folded it, pressed down and leaned, put his weight on his forearm while Daeil groaned and hiccuped. Hui settled his weight and took a deep breath, glanced around the kitchen. Paper towels, cleaner.

“Go clean up the foyer,” he said. “Get all the blood cleaned up and get him another shirt.”

“Okay,” Kisu whispered, bending to kiss Daeil's knuckles. “I'll be right back baby, okay? I'll be right back, I promise.”

Hui worked on keeping his breathing regular while Kisu tried to clean the floor. He could see him from the kitchen, watched him pick up the gun like it would bite him, with a paper towel to cover his fingers. He watched his body roll like he was going to throw up—watched him throw up, a filmy stream of bile that had him coughing weakly before he cleaned that up too. Not for the first time, Hui wondered how addicts did it: how they functioned, how they could work in every day life when their addiction was so crippling. Kisu was shaking, trembling all over and it wasn't out of fear or nerves. It was uncontrollable and it didn't get any better when he made his way back to Daeil, sitting down only after bending over the sink to swill a mouthful of water.

“Okay,” Hui said, sitting up carefully. “Let me take a look now.” He wased back the washcloth and almost heaved a sigh of relief. The bleeding had mostly stopped; Daeil's position in the car and the lack of proper pressure probably caused him to bleed so much, but it seemed like he'd be all right. “I have to stitch this up,” he said, and Kisu swallowed, nodding. Hui watched his head bob, watched his lank hair and dirty face, and pursed his lips. “You can stay here. Keep holding his hands, okay? He needs you right now.”

“Okay,” Kisu whispered, and Hui grabbed for the needle and thread, the antiseptic. He soaked his hands, the needle and the thread.

“It's gonna hurt,” he said quietly, positioning the needle and pressing it through. Daeil cried out and Kisu tucked his arm under his face, grimacing in pain. Hui could only guess that Daeil was biting down on his forearm. He pulled and tied the first stitch, and the second, trying to give Daeil time before each little stab. God, this was a bad idea and he knew it, he knew this was bad but it wasn't exactly like he could take Daeil to the hospital and desperate times called for desperate measures, damn it all to hell.

Sixteen stitches later he wiped down the wound and pressed over it with gauze, taped it down. Daeil was trembling, either with shock or just in pain, and Hui carefully got up off of him. “Come on,” he said gently. “Come on, he needs a pillow and a blanket and a clean shirt. Can you get those for him?”

“Yeah,” Kisu nodded, and he scrambled to do just that, ignoring the horribly bruised meat of his left forearm. Daeil panted on the floor, eyes mostly closed.

“You gonna be okay,” Hui asked quietly.

“Y... Yeah. Yeah. Kisu. He needs. It's.”

“I'll take care of it,” Hui said, and Daeil nodded, mostly unconscious as Kisu came back with a clean shirt that the he and Hui manhandled him into. They laid him out on the floor with a pillow and wrapped him in a blanket and after a moment, Hui turned to Kisu and gave him a long once-over. He was laying on the kitchen floor beside Daeil, stroking his hair, eyes wide and swollen as he spoke nonsense Korean and made no sense at all to Hui.

“...He said the prescriptions are for you,” he said, and Kisu looked up at him. “What are they?” Kisu looked back down at Daeil, swallowed hard.

“...methadone,” he whispered, and suddenly the pieces fell into place. The price, the robbery, Daeil's panic over the prescription and getting it to Kisu. Kisu was a heroin addict, and Daeil had been paying for the methadone to wean him off.

“You're trying to quit?”

“S'not working,” Kisu laughed weakly, eyes wet. “It's... And we can't...” Afford rehab. Yeah, Hui could understand that. There were a lot of programs but the paperwork, the hoops that had to be jumped through. The people who needed help most desperately almost never got it. Fucking rich kids with a drug problem directly correlated to the fact that their parents didn't give a shit, those people got help. People on the ground? The poor, the minorities, the fucking destitute? Like hell. “He's so stupid,” Kisu whispered. “He's so fucking stupid and I love him _so much_.”

“...Come on,” Hui said. “Come on, lets get you a dose, huh. No time like the present.” Kisu looked up at him with his wet eyes and bitten lips and Hui was flooded with pity, with the compassion he'd always been told made him weak in the ER, in the ICU. “Come on,” he said again, offering out his hand. “He'll be so proud when he finds out you took the dose all by yourself.”

Kisu sniffled loudly and nodded, and Hui breathed a silent sigh of relief.

~

Hui thought he should probably feel bad about what he was doing, honestly. For the last three weeks, he'd been getting off the shift at the hospital and driving out to Daeil and Kisu's place (taking the highway, it took all of fifteen minutes to get there compared to the two hours that first time) and giving Kisu his second dose of methadone. Daeil administered the first, wore the key for the lockbox around his neck. Hui checked the wound on his back to make sure it was healing, he made sure to bring something for dinner every time he came, even if it was just shitty boxed mac and cheese. The two of them seemed grateful. More than grateful.

He wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't told on Daeil. He'd covered the bloodstain with a seat cover and febreeze, he hadn't said anything to anyone who asked him about the robbery, whether or not he'd seen anything. He felt _responsible_ for Daeil and Kisu, in a way. He felt... Like he had to fucking help, because no one else was going to. And he could.

“Hey,” he called, walking into the house and closing the door behind him. He heard Kisu chirp gently from the living room, where he was sprawled in the papasan chair while Daeil laid on the floor, his face in a book as always. “I brought Chinese.”

“Does it count if you didn't make it?” Daeil asked, sitting up and wincing only a little. His back was still sore; Hui had been massaging the muscle, had shown Kisu how to do it.

“Shut up, that's racist,” Kisu said, scowling down at Daeil before looking up at Hui, positively angelic. “Hi~”

“Hey,” he said again, smiling as he dropped the bags onto the coffee table. “Come on, eat.” It made Hui feel good, to see Kisu enthusiastic about eating. The methadone was rough on him, probably just as rough as the heroin had been, but he'd been doing so well. Daeil had asked Hui a few weeks ago if smoking weed would help and he'd said it might; the next day Kisu had a small bowl and seemed much less tense than he had been. _Just twice a day,_ Daeil had promised. _I think it helps him not think about it? Plus it's not as bad for you, right? It's not as bad as methadone._

It wasn't.

Hui bantered with the two of them over dinner; told them what happened in the ER, about the cat bite he'd dealt with earlier in the evening. “I've always wanted a cat,” Kisu said.

“You can have as many as you want when you're clean,” Daeil said. Hui smiled a little as Kisu glowed, his entire demeanor warm and happy.

“Oh! By the way, speaking of pussy,” he said, looking over at Hui while Daeil coughed into his drink and subsequently got it all over his shirt. “Daeilah tells me he promised you money, for... Helping him out.” Hui blinked. “And maybe sexual favors?”

Hui choked, and Daeil laughed loudly. “Yah! Hyung!” he complained, saying something in Korean, which Kisu replied to while Hui tried to cough up the rice he'd just sucked into his lungs.

“I'm just saying,” Kisu said, sounding hysterically prim. “If Hui wants something, he can have it. Anything he wants.”

“You're such a pervert,” Daeil accused.

“You're the one who told him you'd have sex with him.”

“To be fair he was going kind of nuts,” Hui said, rubbing his chest. “I don't think he was thinking about what he was saying, so it's not like I'm gonna hold him to it.”

“Yeah, but,” Kisu smiled a sly smile and Hui cocked his head. “Regardless. If you wanted me to blow you, I'd do it.”

“Hyung!”

“Like you wouldn't,” Kisu replied to Daeil's outburst, and Hui watched Daeil turn a pretty shade of pink and bury his face in his shoulder. “Told you.”

“Maybe I'll take you up on that,” Hui teased, grinning over at Daeil but when he turned to look at Kisu he saw something predatory in his gaze and Hui felt very much like he had that day in the car. Helpless, a little scared, and confused as all hell.

And it wasn't a bad feeling.

It wasn't bad at all.

 


End file.
